


Pearls Before Swine

by stale_mnms



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluffy, M/M, Pool, curly hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 08:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stale_mnms/pseuds/stale_mnms
Summary: Stiles notices something new about Derek.(takes place directly after when stiles had to hold derek up in the pool that one time.)





	Pearls Before Swine

**Author's Note:**

> hahaha ok so I found this in my google docs from like... two years ago. I was horny for derek and stiles, and I think this was meant to be a smut piece, but I chopped out all the steamy bits. This is one hundo percent a crack/ironic fic, but I figure someone on this site could still enjoy it? so, ENJOY!

Stiles stopped in his place. His mission of scratching his fingers against the pool tile until he could eventually beach whale himself onto steady ground (freaking noodle arms) was abandoned when he looked up. Derek’s back was turned to him as he stripped off his soaked through jean jacket, and shook his hair around vigorously. In another universe Stiles would have made a snarky comment comparing this action to one of a dogs. In another universe. In a universe where he wasn’t so stunned he couldn’t speak, because holy shit. Derek had _curls_ . Not that beach wave bullshit that white girls always post about on Pinterest. Curly frie, pig tail, christmas present ribbon _curls_.

 

Stiles hand slipped from the lip of the pool, and he was submerged into the pool once again. He flailed his chicken legs (and FREAKING noodle arms) until he broke the surface again, catching another glimpse of Derek’s gorgeous mane. It was definitely getting harder to tell if the burning in his lungs was just chlorine.

 

“Derek!” He gasped through wet coughs.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Derek said dismissively. He didn’t turn to look back at Stiles.

 

Stiles paddled his way to the edge of the pool, curled his pruney fingers around it, and pulled himself up. And pulled, and pulled, and _Ooh!_ Something strong, Derek, grabbed Stiles by the collar of his ruined uniform and lifted him onto the floor like a cat mom. Cat mom? He didn’t know, Stiles’ brain wasn’t really working right now. He laid on the cold tiles, making no attempt to stand. The faint ache in his limbs from carrying Derek's 200 pound, muscle-y meat figure around a god-damn pool for over an hour keep him horizontal. When he finally could push himself up to sit in a more comfortable position, his eyes were yet again ambushed. By Derek’s fucking hair.

 

It’s a stupid thing to obsess over. Honestly. It’s just hair. It can be changed, shaped, modified however you’d like to, and easily. But it’s just one of those things. Like seeing your friend without glasses for the first time. Or your stuck up teacher in public wearing old jeans and a minecraft hoodie. Disorienting. Especially on Derek. The man is always so polished. Ironed shirts, a constant placid misdemeanor, articulated words, and _straight gelled hair._

 

So to see him… debauched? God, it sounded so cheesy, but it was true. His clothes were clinging to his statuesque (oh my god, did he really just use that word) body, one shoe was missing, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. And the darkened hair pasted to his forehead was starting to curl. He looked so soft, and... un-Derek. Like he needed someone to bring him a bowl of warm soup, and a blanket, and _hold_ him. Stiles could do it, he could--

 

“...You’re welcome.” Derek supplied to snap Stiles back into reality. The older man started off to the locker room. It wasn’t until Stiles heard the sound of the shower head running that he propped himself onto his feet, and followed.

 

“Wait! Wait, Derek, wait up!”

 

Stiles skidded in after him, letting out a sigh of relief that Derek hadn’t completely undressed yet. That, on top of the hair, would truly be a disaster for Stiles.

 

Derek nodded once at Stiles, expectantly.

 

“Your hair,”  Stiles said (dumb, DUMB). He ran a hand over his own short hair. “It’s. Woah.”

 

Derek’s eyes flickered up, as if he had forgotten that God had truly blessed him with this beautiful, beautiful mop of goodness. The eye-flickering quickly turned into a roll of the eyes and then an, “Okay…?”

 

“Curly!” Stiles’ toddler mouth blurted out.

 

Derek stared at him hard, and Stiles could hear the gears in his brain turning. Derek spun around on the balls of his feet, surprisingly graceful for the man of his size. He continued to undress, while Stiles, tunnel vision and all, stepped towards him because he needed to _touch_. He grabbed Derek by his shoulders, his bare skin already warming up the palms of Stiles’ hands. He tried to twist the man around, and Derek let him.

 

His fingers reached up.

 

Pinched around the bottom of a dark curl hanging over Derek’s glabella (he learned that word on dictionary.com last night), and…

 

_Boing!_

  



End file.
